


Tortured

by Bibanana



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence - The Empty Hearse, Doctor John Watson, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22055986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibanana/pseuds/Bibanana
Summary: After being tortured during the two years he was “dead”, Sherlock's back is injured. And John shoving him to the floor at his return didn't help much either. Though Sherlock tries to hide it, John doesn't fail to notice. John, ever the doctor, insists on helping him and it sparks some emotions between them.Each chapter has an ending for itself. If you just want to read a one shot, you can only read the first chapter and it will serve as an ending for itself. When I first wrote it, it was only meant to be the first chapter. However, there are only 3 chapters and they are pretty short so you could just read all three... ;)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 21
Kudos: 182





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Perfectly Nice is Boring](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20992382) by [vitruvianwatson (keepyoureyesfixedonme)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keepyoureyesfixedonme/pseuds/vitruvianwatson). 



> This takes place some time after/during The Empty Hearse. Mary is not included because I didn’t particularly like her character and she would interfere with the feels. I’m not British.  
> I own nothing but the events taking place. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle owns the characters Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. These versions of the characters are from the TV series Sherlock created by Moffat and Gatiss.  
> Please comment your suggestions. Hope you enjoy!

Sherlock let out a strangled noise as he sat down in his armchair.

“Sherlock?” John said from across from him, looking up from the paper. “Your hurt.”

Sherlock gave a half-hearted scoff. “I’m fine.” He said dismissively.

John stood up. “No, you’re not fine. I don’t have to be a doctor to see that. Come here so I can take a look.”

“Really, it’s just a couple bruises. You worry too much, John. They'll be gone in a few days.” But even as he said this, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

John threw his hands up. “Jesus Sherlock! It's me! You don't have to pretend with me! Now, come over and let me see.”

Sherlock sighed. “Only if it will ease your mind. Wouldn't want to concern my blogger.” He grunted in pain as he stood and shuffled over.

“Where does it hurt?” John asked professionally.

“Back.” Sherlock answered grumpily.

John started to unbutton Sherlock's shirt. Sherlock looked at John, his intelligent blue eyes uncertain. It was an odd look on him. It made him look vulnerable. “Sherlock, your shirt will have to come off for me too look.”

Sherlock nodded in understanding. Together, they unbuttoned the rest of the shirt. John was surprised to find Sherlock's porcelain skin muscular. He couldn't remember Sherlock going to the gym once. “Turn around, then.” He ordered, tearing his eyes away from Sherlock's chest. He obeyed.

John gasped. It was much more than a few bruises. He had been burned, stabbed, bruised. His back was etched in wounds and fresh scars. “Oh, Sherlock.” He breathed. “You- you've been tortured.”

“I'm aware.” Sherlock responded stiffly, his face contorted in pain.

“You should have gone to a doctor!”

“I am.”

John smiled to himself and ran his hand softly over Sherlock's back, checking for broken bones. He could see Sherlock's hand was in a tight fist.

He stopped and pressed gently in one area. “Does this hurt?” He asked.

“A little.”

He moved his hand. “This?”

“No.”

“How about this?” Slowly, tentatively, he lowered his mouth down onto Sherlock's back and pressed his lips softly against his skin.

“No,” Came the response. “It actually felt quite nice.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is suffering from post traumatic stress disorder. John remembers his old therapist's advice for dealing with PTSD and helps Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said that it was a stand alone story but I revisited it recently and couldn't help adding another chapter. I don't know if anyone will still read this and it's been a while, but one can hope. If you are reading it, thank you!! Enjoy!

Sherlock tossed and turned, his sheets tangling around him. His back ached from John's earlier prodding.

Sherlock had turned around and kissed John’s lips. It was a little awkward, seeing as Sherlock had never kissed anyone other than that one time a girl kissed him in secondary school. But, with John leading the way, it was perfect.

Until John had noticed the time, that is. He insisted that Sherlock rest and went off to his own room, in his own bed.

And now, here Sherlock lay, alone, miserable. Everytime he closed his eyes, he could see it all again. The shouting. The unfamiliar language that he had just barely passed with being able to understand. They would stab him. Over and over. And Mycroft, goddamnit, didn’t even do anything about it! His own bloody brother. He felt his eyes fill. _What is this? I’ve been through worse, I shouldn’t be crying! This is pathetic._ He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face into the pillow, releasing a muffled moan.

These were the occurrences of nearly every night. He would lay here until he was certain John was asleep. Then, he would read through an old case. It would continue like this until he passed out from sheer exhaustion. He was practiced at staying alert the day after and if John noticed the dark circles developing under his eyes, he never said anything. Perhaps he had become accustomed to Sherlock spending most nights sleepless. Perhaps he didn’t want to know. Perhaps he didn't even care.

It was late now, so Sherlock stood and went into the sitting room. He shuffled over to the bookshelf where he kept all the old cases. He pulled out one from several years back, before he had met John. This was an unimportant case so he had deleted it ages ago.

The report gave some vague details. It was a young female, short, brunette, no signs of rape. Her body from the front was perfectly healthy, but her back had been cut deeply. She had bled out from her back and been found by her boyfriend. The next page had a photo of her back, taken at the scene of the crime.

The wounds closely resembled his. Sherlock stumbled back, gasping, desperately trying to cling to reality.

_Stab._

_Scream._

_Slap._

_Spit._

Sherlock fell to the ground and pulled his arms around his knees and began shaking violently. He shut his eyes tightly so that couldn’t see anymore. But he could feel the blows, the knives slicing through his skin, the blood trickling down his spine. He bit down on his lip hard in a frantic attempt to stifle his screams. But it was no use. He heard John race out of his bedroom.

“Sherlock!” He knelt down in front of him and tried to remember what his therapist had said to do during a flashback or panic attack all those years ago. “I'm going to touch you. Is that okay?”

Sherlock gave a sharp nod. John took Sherlock's hand in his own and squeezed. It was better now that John was here, but his heart was still pounding, his body still quivering, and he didn't dare open his eyes.

_Stab._

_Scream._

_Slap._

“Sherlock, you here with me.” John murmured, his voice breaking through his thoughts. “We are on Baker Street, in flat 221b. Mrs. Hudson is in the flat below. No one is hurting you.”

Sherlock took a shaky breath.

_Stab._

_Scream._

John squeezed his hand again. This time, Sherlock squeezed back. John squeezed. Then Sherlock.

Squeeze.

_Squeeze._

Squeeze.

_Squeeze._

They went on like this for a minute. It gave him something to center his attention on.

Squeeze.

_Squeeze._

Squeeze.

Sherlock lost focus.

_Stab._

When Sherlock didn’t squeeze back, John knew he had slipped again. “Open your eyes.” He said softly.

Sherlock shook his head.

“Sherlock, we are not there. We’re together and I’m not going anywhere. Open your eyes.”

Sherlock slowly opened one eye and then the other. He was relieved to find himself in the flat, not in Serbia. John’s face was closer to him than he expected, his gray eyes concerned.

“John, I-” What would he say? He's grateful? He's sorry? He loves him? All these things were true, but none of them seemed right.

John seemed to understand. “I know.” He said. “Now, if we sit on the floor any longer, I’ll throw my back out. Middle age does that to a man.” He laughed. “Couch?”

Still clutching each others hands, they collapsed, nearly on top of one another other, into the couch. John rest his head on Sherlock’s shoulder and fell asleep almost immediately. Sherlock went soon after, into the most peaceful sleep he’d had in weeks, comforted by John’s secure grasp on his hand and steady weight on his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! I'm so flattered that you took the time out of your day to read my fic. If I got anything wrong with my info on PTSD, please comment. I'm considering doing another chapter if you liked it. A kudos and a nice comment would make my day!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I wrote the majority of this at 12:30 to almost 1 am. I edited it this morning but that was mostly for simple error, so if this is completely horrible, blame the fact that I was pretty tired.

John’s eyes blinked open as sunlight shone through the curtain. His watch read 10:00 AM. Sherlock was still asleep. He slowly pulled his head off of Sherlock’s shoulder and pried his fingers out of Sherlock’s long, slender hand. Thankfully, he didn’t stir. John had noticed Sherlock becoming increasingly tired recently but just assumed he had been up through the night composing. He honestly didn’t even know anymore. Sherlock had changed so much over the past two years. He was no longer the man who would jump off a building and fake his own death without a moment's notice. He was fragile now. It was almost as if he was living with a stranger. He had no idea what had given him the urge to kiss him the night before, but he did not regret it. What had sparked that in the first place? What did that make him? He knew he wasn’t gay. Women were far too attractive. So was he bisexual? He had never really noticed men this way, before. Well, actually come to think of it, Mike Stamford’s kindness had drawn him in, despite his unpopularity. And he had admired James Sholto’s commitment and stoicism enough to remain friends with him, even through his inability to accept help from others. But that was different, wasn’t it? Maybe it was finally time to ring Harry up.

And he never knew that Sherlock liked men. What was Sherlock’s sexuality? There was something between him and Irene, but that was purely intellectual, wasn’t it? And he never gave Molly a second glance. Did Sherlock even know what his own sexuality is? It was never that important to him before and he doubted it would be now. What would Greg say? And Mycroft? He knew Mrs. Hudson would be supportive. She had been setting them up since day one. Or perhaps they wouldn’t go public with their relationship. Did they even have a _relationship_? John decided that he would go with whatever Sherlock wanted

John stood up and massaged the crank in his neck he had gotten from sleeping with his head tilted to the side. He ran a hand through his blond, but slowly graying, hair and shuffled into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, he saw that they were low on bread. He scrambled eggs and put the kettle on. He was about to see what bread they _did_ have, that hadn’t gone stale yet, when he heard a muffled sob. Sherlock had tucked himself into a ball and his brow was furrowed. John went and sat beside him, instinctively smoothing out the creases on his forehead. Sherlock opened his eyes.

“Sorry.” John said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Sherlock sat upright. “No, I’m glad you did.” He looked a little shaken, probably from his dream, but better rested than he had looked in weeks.

“Do you-” John hesitated. “Do you want to talk about your dream.”

Sherlock shook his head, and stood up. “I’d rather not. Oh look- eggs!”

John smiled as he watched Sherlock pour the tea and scoop some eggs onto a plate. If he wasn’t ready to talk, he wouldn’t force him. God knows that no one can force Sherlock Holmes to do anything.

“Haf Lestaa cawed wit any cases et?” Sherlock asked, mouth full.

John grinned and blushed a little at the cuteness of it all, taking a mental picture. Sherlock, cheeks stuffed with eggs, his dark brown curls mussed, and his eyes foggy from a good night’s sleep. His smile was quickly wiped from his face and unease settled in his stomach. Sherlock ate, but never on a case. Yet here he was, shoveling eggs and asking for a case.

Sherlock picked up a cup of tea.

“Ah, maybe we take a break from murders and whatnot, just for now.”

The cup of tea didn’t even make it all the way to his mouth, before it was slammed back down onto the table. Sherlock’s eyes were flaming. “Are you mentally challenged, Watson?”

Woah. _Watson?_ Where did that come from?

“You know that I need my cases.” He continued, practically spitting. “I depend on them to not be bored. They are my life. I care about my work and only my work. I do not care about anything or anyone else in this dull world, and you want to so cruelly take that away from me?”

John bit back a harsh reply, hearing his ex-therapist’s voice in his head.

_“You’re angry more often now, John, because no one understands. No one knows what you’ve been through so it angers you that they try to make things better when they couldn’t possibly begin to fathom that kind of pain.”_

The words sounded so alien, coming from the lips that had kissed him so tenderly, just the past night. The lanky, long body that folded so easily into John’s arms had been quivering with fear, but now it was shaking with anger. His stunning galaxy eyes that had been squeezed shut for fear of finding himself in the hands of the people who had broken him were now wide open and filled with malice.

But all broken things can be fixed.

“Hey, it’s alright! I didn’t say quit completely! Just not today, right? And there’s other things we can do so you won’t be bored. How ‘bout the cinema?”

John thought that for a moment, Sherlock looked a little guilty for snapping. “I suppose that could serve as some sort of substitute.”

And so they put on their coats and left their revolvers in the flat. It was raining, but luckily Sherlock had incredible luck with hailing cabs. At the cinema, Sherlock went to purchase some popcorn while John was faced with the task of choosing tickets for a movie that wasn’t particularly violent or gory, yet would hold the detective's attention. He settled on a political drama that had gotten good reviews and was known for being intricate, detailed, and complicated. They walked closely through the dimly lit hall, their shoulders brushing against each other. Sherlock wordlessly grabbed John’s hand in his own and held fast. John felt the tips of his ears grow warm. When a woman shot them a judgemental look, Sherlock defiantly pressed a big kiss right onto John’s cheek. John felt a grin stretching across his face. They got into the theatre and found their seats. It turned out John had chosen correctly because Sherlock’s attention was instantly captivated. John eventually gave up trying to make sense of the film and instead focused on Sherlock’s face, his expressions changing dramatically depending on a point in the plot. It was extremely entertaining.

Maybe Sherlock was a little bit broken, but he was still the same slightly eccentric, brilliant man that he had been that first day at Bart’s and John would continue to put him back together, piece by piece. He might never be whole again, he might not have been entirely whole in the first place, but that didn’t matter because as long as they had each other, everything would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading it despite my disclaimer! This fic is over for now because I feel like it ended in a pretty good place, but I loved writing it so I might want to revisit it again sometime in the future. Everybody's comments make me so happy, so thank you!


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